


Tailgate/Cyclonus Miniseries (Collection of Ficlets & Oneshots)

by innermostenergon



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fluffy as heck, really fluffy seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innermostenergon/pseuds/innermostenergon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miniseries of ficlets and oneshots of Cyclonus and Tailgate. Fluffy as heck. Some M-rated content. Spoiler-free, or warnings at the start of chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> This series is reposted from Fanfiction.net, refreshed and missing a few old chapters I thought weren't very good. If you would like to read them anyway, they're over there under the same handle. 
> 
> *This chapter is old too, but really fluffy and spitshined a little from the FF.net version. The following chapters are much newer and shinier. I hope you enjoy them all the same!

There were many things that benefited both the warrior from the weak and the timid from the stubborn. One of these things were that if Tailgate wanted anything from Cyclonus he needed to directly ask; this forced Tailgate to come out of his shell more around others, and was honestly making his life a lot easier. Except when he wanted something like this.  
Purely selfish. Mostly selfish. _Slightly_ selfish but he was a mech _too,_ damn it, and maybe not all mechs are created equal but all sparks are, and Primus damn it did his spark _want this._  
Tailgate entirely lacked any sort of denta, lips, pliable metal, a glossa or anything that could even remotely allow him to initiate a kiss from Cyclonus in which Cyclonus would be able to return to him. If he'd tried _-and he unfortunately had-_ it would seem - _and was_ \- very very strange and embarrassing. All he'd managed to do is clank their faces together in an attempt to goad a kiss from Cyclonus's lips against his faceplate, and now he sat there next to him in their special spot by the largest window into space on the Lost Light mending what was left of his pride and dignity. Cyclonus had no remote idea what Tailgate was trying to accomplish and simply chastised him for not asking for whatever it was in the first place. No matter what it was, simply asking for it would have been a lot less embarrassing than Tailgate's alternative.  
It sure didn't feel like it with the dumbstruck expression Cyclonus gave him when he _did_ stammer out a request for a kiss. Tailgate shrunk further into himself and wished he'd been onlined with the power to disappear.  
His complete mortification was short lived when a clawed hand cupped his jaw and lifted, bringing his face to Cyclonus's - which was infinitesimally _closer_ than the last time he'd looked up. Tailgate's entire structure seized as Cyclonus's lips pressed to Tailgate's faceplate, so gently and so _warm_ ; and all too soon pulled away. Tailgate just stared into his optics as everything settled back down, too lost in them to notice the tiny blip of a warning from his stabilizers before he toppled over quite unceremoniously, proceeding to bash his helm into the floor.  
The booming laughter that filled the room took all the pain away, and as Tailgate lay on the floor listening to Cyclonus's laugh he felt once again that he might not survive the night with his spark entirely intact.


	2. The Light that Guided the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really cheesy, sorry. And a teensy bit old. But fluffy! WARNING: Descriptions of mech gore and agony.

Despite the sick drunken ease of the bar, and the vivacious happiness of Swerve's theme night - Tailgate felt uneasy. He was anxious, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He was lonely in a room full of about every mech aboard and he wasn't enjoying the night in the least. You see, usually his suitemate Cyclonus would stay in their habsuite by himself during theme night, but this time Rodimus had him on a mission on the hostile semiorganic planet below them, and he had made him promise he would send him a comm message every step of the way this time. Tailgate had just gotten over his Cybercrosis, and every part of him needed to spend time with Cyclonus. He felt like they wouldn't ever get enough time together until either of their functions ended. And with the way Cyclonus followed him everywhere they went, it seemed to him like Cyclonus felt the same way.  
Cyclonus kept to his word. He would send him a brief, short update every so often, sometimes with the sound of Whirl's voice in the background laughing at him for being "valvewhipped", whatever that meant. But the last comm he had gotten was when they had found an old ruin and ventured inside. The last time this happened, the universal symbol for the plague was on the front, and everyone nearly died. Many did die. He sincerely wished if someone did have to die, that it wouldn't be Cyclonus. He realized it's selfish of him to think that way, but for Primus' _sake_ , can't anyone give them a break? It felt like there was someone writing a bad story about them and trying to break the reader's hearts every step of the way.

Movie night crawled by. At one point he attempted to go back to their habsuite and recharge, wake up, and find Cyclonus safely sitting at their data computer, quietly writing a report. Of course this is reality and not the sweet fantasy world he'd sometimes go to to try and squash a panic attack. He felt far too isolated there without Cyclonus. Especially when he knew the warrior was knee-deep in swamp muck inside some stupid ruined construction probably getting shot at, stabbed, or spark eaten by creatures whose very existence managed to puzzle absolutely everybody on the entire ship's crew of experts on everything. Tailgate felt like if time got any slower it would halt entirely.

Finally, at what felt like the end of eternity, a full 6 breems later, the habsuite door opened. Tailgate hopped up from his place perched upside-down on the windowsill and ran to the door to embrace whatever he could reach on his now-safe Cyclonus.. and stopped entirely when he saw white, not purple, legs. Chromedome's bright yellow visor stared down at him in sadness and pity, and sort of a pain he hadn't seen in his eyes before. A sort of knowing. Tailgate kept hearing clicks of static as Chromedome halted half-processed speech about a dozen times, trying to find the right words. His spark sank to the floor. Something terrible had happened. Cyclonus was gone. He just knew it. Maybe they were able to spend a few more moments together but Cyclonus sacrificed his life for Tailgate's. And Tailgate found the sacrifice not worth it. What was the point of living without one's other half?

Chromedome finally broke the silence, and all he said was "he's not dead." At least it was something Tailgate wanted to hear, more than anything, at this point. Maybe that was the knowing he saw in his visor. The tall mech led him to the infirmary, and then into the medbay. A lot- no, most- no, all of the mechs on the mission are here. Even Rodimus and Ultra Magnus are here, all standing in quarantine tubes. Separately. And there was one, covered in a tarp, with this horrible noise coming from it. If agony of all kinds had a corporeal form, it would sound like this. It made Tailgate's spark slam in his chest. He didn't see Cyclonus anywhere. He was getting very worried now, as Ratchet dismissed Chromedome and led Tailgate to the covered quarantine lock. Ratchet wordlessly pulled the tarp away, and all that time spent waiting for news back from Cyclonus felt like nothing. All time had stopped. He wished he couldn't see. He wished he was sparked blind. He wished he would have died from Cybercrosis so he would never, ever have to see his ancient friend in such a state. Anything would have been better than what he saw before him now. He saw a clouded quarantine chamber, a sort of gas filling the inside in an apparently pointless attempt at shutting down the mech's systems. The inner walls of glass were pierced, cracked and gouged out by Cyclonus's claws and what looked like his denta. Energon, viscous like no energon should ever be, and oil with a green sickly hue was smeared across the glass by his claws. His optics were burning so bright it felt like staring into the sun. His mouth was constantly dripping oil, or at least what was left of it was. His jaw was completely missing, and on a short search, was found desperately clutched in Cyclonus's hand, being ground against the glass, which explains the denta marks. The rest of his frame looked like he had fallen down a cliff for a long, long while. Rocks and all kinds of organic matter, mixed with his own sick energon were stuck in about every place it could be, and some sharp sticks and construct rubble found their way into new places, gouged open and bleeding like the rest of him.

All that, that is to say, is he didn't actually see his warrior. He saw the shell of his warrior, burning in a pain and agony like nothing before it. He was speechless. He was heartbroken. He was shocked. Most of all he was frightened. So frightened he couldn't move. The sight before him was so terrifying, so incomprehensible that he couldn't look away. Cyclonus's unimaginable agony was almost tangible. He felt like he could grasp his hand in any direction and no matter where it landed in space, there would be pain. No matter where he went, the horrible grinding static of Cyclonus's muffled, jawless, twisted screams would reach him.

Finally Ratchet broke the silence. "He's not dead. I'll cut to the point, Tailgate - Cyclonus is infected with a Class 8 semiorganic disease called Graverobber's Disease. It's caused by the infected flesh of a plague that once wiped out a race of semi-organics, rotted and twisted, unable to die below the surface of the planets they dwelled upon, until a graverobber or other explorer-type stumbles upon a tomb, often literally. The disease was powerful against the semiorganics, built for their bacteria and immune systems, but in a solid mechanical, where there is no beating 'heart' or organic life system to kill, all it can do is slowly destroy the fluids inside, and rot away at the protoform. Unlike most of the diseases we come across this one has an effective cure, but despite that the fatality versus survival rate is 95% to 5%. Very few have ever survived the curing process. Most kill themselves halfway through. It's simply too painful. The curing process involves the gas you see pouring from the vents above him - but the disease is hardy and the cure takes at least two entire cycles. Once the cure has eradicated the disease, then the medic involved simply repairs whatever the disease had destroyed, granted it's all fixable. But Tailgate - Cyclonus knew this would happen. He knew what it was when he fell down a weak floor in the ruins, and Magnus had to shut off his vocalizer because he would not stop repeating your name."

Tailgate's spark stopped in his chest. His hand twitched, and then as if on it's own, reached out and pressed against the third layer of quarantine glass separating them. Cyclonus stopped his thrashing of pain, and simply sank to the ground, coated in energon, pressing his body tightly against where Tailgate's hand was placed. He simply laid there, eyes burning into Tailgate's panicked visor, his form racked in convulsing shakes against his control. Tailgate's mind was blank. He couldn't think about anything but his warrior, laid there against the glass. Everything else melted away. The strongest, most fearsome mech Tailgate had ever met _needed him_. In Tailgate's time of need, blinded by cybercrosis, paralyzed and terrified, Cyclonus had been there at his side, every waking moment. He sang to him until he was deaf, and even after then, sang to him still. He had felt the vibrations of Cyclonus's voice against his hand until he had finally gone unconscious. And now Cyclonus was in pain. Cyclonus was blinded, and in agony, and in his own time of need.

So that's what Tailgate decided to do.

He sang. He didn't take a moment to collect his lessons, he didn't begin with rebooting his vocalizer, he didn't even think about anyone else. He simply started to sing, as loud as his little voice could possibly go, and then louder. Cyclonus didn't seem to respond at first, but a fraction of the convulsing was gone, and the agonized static and grinding from Cyclonus's throat was soon gone, for fear of not being able to hear Tailgate's song over it. He first sang every song Cyclonus had ever taught him, and then two he had learned on his own, and then every song all over again, for as long as it took. Eventually Cyclonus had exhausted his energon reserves and effectively was bled out of all energy, and Tailgate still sang, as Ratchet hurried to reconnect his feed lines through the glass. He sang until Ratchet pulled him from the quarantine chamber and repaired his body. He sat beside Cyclonus's regenerating form, unconscious on the berth beside him, and he sang for the cycles it took for him to be let up from stasis. He was still singing, vocalizer creating long patches of static and hoarse grinding from the severe overuse, as Cyclonus clamped his clawed hand over Tailgate's mouth, halfway through waking himself.

Tailgate's form fell to the floor in a heap the moment Cyclonus's hand had touched him of it's own will. It meant Cyclonus was alright now, and that Tailgate didn't have to sing anymore. He could finally stop.

* * *

Warmth. Warmth and comfort was all Tailgate felt, and he never wanted it to go away. Slowly, as more of his systems onlined, memories came flooding back. Horrible memories. Memories of the last few days, of Cyclonus diseased and broken, isolated in a quarantine tube, and then of Cyclonus's many repair operations, and his recovery. Memories of his vocalizer giving out and having to watch as Cyclonus slowly began to convulse again until Ratchet could get it at least temporarily back online.

He onlined his visor with a jolt and immediately sat up. Had he offlined in the middle of Cyclonus's recovery? Had he left him alone to face his agony?

He looked around, and saw Cyclonus sitting against the window, staring out into the stars beyond. His spark immediately sank back to a normal pulse. He was so happy to see him repaired, and back to stargazing in their habsuite, his jet engines burning hotter than Tailgate's little engine ever could and making the room a wonderful, familiar kind of warm. He didn't remember what happened when Cyclonus had onlined. All he remembered was blacking out as Ratchet pulled him from stasis. He wondered if Cyclonus had heard him, all that time, singing to him. He wondered if he had helped at all. If Cyclonus remembered his gesture.

"Tailgate."

Tailgate crawled onto Cyclonus's berth beside him and copied his cross-legged sit, for once afraid to break the silence. For once, not knowing what to say. Should he ask what it was like? If he had heard Tailgate? Why he asked for Tailgate and no-one else? Why he had ever admitted to needing him there to anyone, or if he knew Tailgate would have been there whether he had asked him or not?

"You have told me what Cybercrosis felt like, as it was happening. I did not have a chance to return to you that small favor, to tell you what I was going through. Have you ever been electrocuted, Tailgate?"

"I uh- I once-I mean I tried to change the socket on one of Swerve's engex dispensers with a wet servo once?"

"Imagine that tenfold. And that, again, a thousandfold. And a thousandfold again, for a thousand years, in slow motion. Picture your plating and armor picked away and stripped, the sharp talons of cyberhawks tearing at your protoform, except that your plating is still there, trapping the talons in your cabling. A darkness surrounds you, you don't know where you are, there is no-one there. Just you, and your agony, and the talons, and the sticky, wet feeling of bleeding, all over. You're unable to scream, or express your agony in any way. You cannot call out for help, or for anyone, or anything. You cannot wish for death because it is all around you already, slow and careful, feeding off of the arid, searing heat your pain has engulfed you in. There is no moment where the pain is dulled for even the briefest point of time. For a thousand, million years. All you ever want is to go home. And then Tailgate - picture a voice, a wonderful voice, the voice of Primus's angels, piercing through the veil. Like the smallest star to lead you home through a volley of comets crushing through every seam on your body. Blindly you follow the voice, and it carries you faster through time, until you see a face with it, through the blinding of your optics bursting from their sockets, blocking out the light that feels like staring into every sun in the known universe. And then nothing. Pure, sweet, lonely nothing. No pain, no face, no voice...and then a softness, caressing you gently through the nothing, almost hiding itself in the background of your thoughts of nothing. The softness carries through, and it becomes warm, and you feel cleansed. As if every sin you ever committed was written away in a single moment of the most blissful song."

Tailgate couldn't stop listening. Internally he recorded this moment, as Cyclonus spoke more than he ever has and more than Tailgate will probably ever hear again. But as he listened, time stopped again. Time was funny that way, recently. It seemed to stop a lot. And not just for him. His spark was funny that way, too, especially as Cyclonus turned his head and gazed directly into Tailgate's visor, past the obstruction and directly into his optics, into his very _being_. And for once, the look wasn't mild disapproval, or annoyance, or a passing exasperation in exchange for companionship. It was a warm look, of appreciation, a look that Tailgate felt was the closest he would ever get to a "thank you" from the warrior. And Tailgate decided that honestly, it was all he wanted.


	3. Cold Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings. Fluffy. Enjoy.

It had been cycles and cycles since Cyclonus had been struck by Graverobber's Disease, and subsequently cured. Very little was spoken of the incident, except a brief explanation of how it had happened following a quiet, tentative prompting from Tailgate. The appreciative look he had given him that night hadn't dulled, though, and Tailgate was enamoured with it. Instead of avoiding Cyclonus's fierce, strong gaze that silently demanded obedience, he sought after it actively. Whenever Tailgate felt hopeless, he would catch Cyclonus's optics in Swerve's bar and he could smile inside again. If Tailgate felt lonely or unappreciated, a passing glance from Cyclonus in the washracks made his spark soar once more. And even now, trudging back to their shared habsuite, armor plating still clattering with the freezing cold he had just experienced, he knew all he needed to see was Cyclonus.

He had been dragged along to the frozen, snow covered moon below the Lost Light on another stupid, pointless expedition to find the Knights in some god-forsaken, inhospitable wasteland. It felt like Rodimus chose these places on purpose just to stuff little Tailgate into another snow bank, or down another rocky cliff. Yeah Rodimus, maybe the Knights are hiding in this microscopic hole in the ground filled with an unidentifiable, putrid slime. _Yeah_ , maybe they're even beyond this infinitesimal, ice-covered, drafty cave entrance, having a _tea party_ or something. He had no idea what the planets were like that he wasn't included on, but he imagined them as lush, tropical oasises, where there were no miniscule holes to stuff minibots through. Every planet in the solar system could not possibly be as bad as the ones he was taken on, so it must just be that those were all he saw. He felt like his knees might give out soon, so he quickened his pace to their habsuite. He had an old heated covering he planned on wrapping himself in when he got 'home'. The loud clatter from his plating was starting to become seriously irksome.

Finally he arrived at his destination and keyed the door open, and immediately the warmth from the habsuite flooded over his systems. Cyclonus was a flier, and his jet engines ran much hotter than a small ground engine like his, so when he was locked alone in the habsuite for any length of time he had a tendency to fill the room with the loveliest warmth. Tailgate hadn't noticed he'd collapsed in the doorway until he felt his roommate's hands lifting him off the floor. The door automatically clicked shut pretty fast, but it didn't even have time to _start_ closing before Cyclonus had Tailgate wrapped in that heated covering he had mentioned earlier. It was nice, but not nearly as comforting as Cyclonus's plating had been. He'd expected his roommate to contact Ratchet, or Ambulon, or literally _any_ medical officer whatsoever, considering that he had just collapsed, or just leave him on the berth to shiver and naturally come around, but he did something entirely unexpected instead.

Cyclonus lifted Tailgate from the berth, sat with his back against the wall comfortably, and held Tailgate tightly to his chest. Tailgate's spark was somersaulting in it's chamber. He felt like perhaps he hadn't just collapsed but completely offlined and this was actually just a lovely dream he was having. Cyclonus was running his own engine hot and enveloping Tailgate in the heat. He was clearly not in any real _danger_ or Ratchet would have admitted him into the medbay immediately; Cyclonus knew this. He knew the medical team examined everyone coming off a foreign planet, or moon, or _dusty space rock_ the nanosecond they set pede back on the Lost Light. So that must mean Cyclonus was holding him _voluntarily_ , with Tailgate's comfort in mind, warming him through a genuine act of care. He might just offline now if he didn't want to live and breathe and cherish _every fraction_ of this moment.

The warmth felt amazing. Tailgate hadn't felt so nice in eons. It was no secret to anyone he admired his roommate dearly, and a part of him wished they didn't, but everyone also knew he adored Cyclonus. He had forgotten entirely about the cold shiver still lingering on his plating like icy needles - all his thoughts were encompassed by the feeling of strong arms clung to his plating in a warm embrace. Once he had thawed out and his plating stopped it's relentless noise, and his vocaliser was capable of use again, he glanced up into Cyclonus's optics. And for once, it was _Cyclonus_ who did not have the courage to stay his gaze. He had looked away. _Cyclonus had looked away_ \- but Tailgate had seen plenty. He saw the concern in his roommate's optics, his worry, with a tinge of irrational fear. But that wasn't all he saw, that wasn't all that had stunned him to his very core. Tailgate saw _love_ in that short glimpse. He had never seen them in anyone's optics ever before, but he was _certain_ he saw it now. In Cyclonus's optics. _Oh_ , he could just _leak._

"C-Cyclonus?"

Tailgate felt emboldened by his roommate having looked away. Unwilling to meet his gaze again, Cyclonus blankly stared through what little he could see out their window from the angle, and took several moments to formulate a reply. "What is it, Tailgate?"

"I want you to say it."

The little minibot felt the arms around him and the very support beneath him stiffen, gradually more over time, and then relax fractionally. "Say _what_ , exactly?"

"You know what."

He couldn't help but feel a little giddy. This was the strangest of circumstances, and he was going to get the absolute most out of them.

"Don't be ridiculous, how could I possibly have any idea what you are talking about when you have not begun to tell me?"

"Cyclonus, you know exactly what I want you to say, and I know you do. Please? It would make me feel a lot better?"

"You say that as if it mattered very much. Besides, once again, how am I supposed to know what you want me to tell you unless you tell me first?"

Wow, he turned that around _really_ fast. Tailgate should have expected his momentary upper hand not to last, but it lasted even shorter than he had expected. Cyclonus finally met his gaze once more, and his spark was hammering in it's casing. Cyclonus's optics had amusement in them now, something he was unused to seeing, but he would risk a lot to see more of.

He began to panic. What if Cyclonus wasn't playing dumb, but really didn't know what Tailgate meant? What if he _thought_ he saw love in his desperation for his roommate to like him? But what if it _really was_ love, and throwing away this chance by lying or joking would throw away any chance of ever hearing the one thing Tailgate wished most to hear in Cyclonus's beautiful, resonating voice? Only one of those trains of thought could ever lead him anywhere good, and he just had to take this chance. He just had to. Before his fear got the best of him.

"T-...tell me you love me."

Cyclonus didn't look shocked, appalled, resentful, nauseated, or any of the looks Tailgate _expected_ him to have. He still looked amused, if a little apprehensive, and he relaxed again, and shifted his arm tighter around his little friend.

"Is that really what you want? Think about it." Tailgate was about to immediately agree, but he was interrupted. " _Really, truly_ think about it first. And then ask me again if you have made a decision."

Tailgate looked down and focused on the feeling of warmth around him. The feeling of safety, and rare compassion. He focused on the feeling of wonder when his roommate sang, and the happiness he felt during their lessons. On the relief he felt when he walked into their hab suite after a rough shift of duties and saw his friend peacefully stargazing. But most of all he focused on how the future might be, after this night, if he asked once more. He thought, just for a fraction of a moment, about parting ways and separating from their habsuite, and his spark seized with pain.

" _Please tell me you love me._ "

This request was decidedly less bold. Quieter, softer. Almost broken and frantic. The reply took a short while, for reasons Tailgate would rather not think about for terribly long, but it was there. Just as soft, and quiet.

"Yes, Tailgate. I do love you. I will not lie or manipulate your feelings. But I wish for you to truly know what you are getting into before-"

A now-warm faceplate connected with his mouth before he was able to finish. His thoughts flickered to the pede slightly digging into his thigh as the minibot stood in his lap to kiss him, but it was washed away in the feeling of his spark lighting once more with a feeling he had not felt in a very, very, very long time. Cyclonus took over the clumsy kiss, turning it into more of an elegant affair. As Tailgate had no lips or real mouth to speak of, he reciprocated as best he could with a tilt of his head there, a push of his faceplate there, but for the most part, Cyclonus dominated the kiss. The growing feeling in his spark took him over, and he gently grasped the back of his smaller partner's helm with a hand and pulled him in. His mouth lacked any real pliability, making his lips harder and his kiss more passionate, and honestly more like him. He peppered Tailgate's faceplate with tasteful little kisses, much like the small bouts of attention he would give him on the average day, little lines of encouragement now turned into fervent affection. But when his lips made full contact again, it was as if he was pulling him from a bomb once more. He poured his very spark into this kiss, and he left little Tailgate dazed beyond coherency.


	4. Snowdrift Smooches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung is okay, I promise. Whirl probably isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fulfilled prompt for someone on Tumblr. Fluffy, snowy.

Well this was daunting. This was just about the most daunting thing Tailgate had ever done - and he had tried to dismantle a _bomb_. He stared down the steep slope in front of him, looking far steeper than it actually was, and tried to prevent his intakes from seizing. Tailgate repeated the mantra Rung had given him quietly to himself as he clambered onto a bench and sat with his legs dangling over the edge. "There is no reason to panic. I'll be okay. There is no reason to panic, I'll be okay. _Oh, Primus._ " At least _Cyclonus_ was going to be with him. They had practiced quite a lot on the bunny hills, despite Cyclonus requiring no practice at all, but going down a real slope _had_ to be different. He looked up in front of him as Cyclonus approached with a pair of small skis and began wordlessly strapping them onto Tailgate's feet.

"You've learned how to walk in them, and you've practiced on hills - going down the slope is not much different."

Cyclonus lifted him up from under his arms and onto his feet. He straightened himself and lead Tailgate to a good, slow starting spot. "Remember, Tailgate - to stop, gradually move the tips of your skis towards each other, and push your heels out. _Gradually._ " Tailgate nodded and began to speak, but Ratchet started shouting from a nearby bench. "If you think you're gonna crash into somebody, _throw yourself on the ground!_ I am not removing _a_ , or _multiple_ skis from _anyone's_ body parts at _any time_ _today!_ " That could happen? _Could that really happen!?_

Cyclonus started off with ease, and without warning. Tailgate panicked to catch up. He crouched to lower his center of gravity, as Cyclonus had taught him, and pushed off with the ski poles down the snowy hill after him, trying his best to keep his feet straight. He allowed himself to break his concentration momentarily to watch Cyclonus gracefully glide down the slope, and then slow gradually to flank Tailgate. "Stay calm. Focus on enjoying the ride."

"O-okay, but what if someone crashes into _me_? Or what if I fall and _hurt_ myself? Or what if _you_ fall and hurt _yourself!?_ " Tailgate's visor began to glow in panic, trailing after him as the slope grew steeper and his pace grew faster. "There is no-one on the slope right now Tailgate, everyone is still preparing."

As if to perpetually burden Cyclonus with daily ignorance and deliberate inconveniences, Whirl flew down the slope at dangerous speeds, using poor Rung's alt mode as a snowboard, his helicopter propellers aiding in his rapid acceleration. Whirl seemed to be having the time of his life, even if Rung was absolutely not. Still, Cyclonus's words and for some reason Whirl's antics had bolstered Tailgate's courage. He would have fun, slag it, if it was the last thing he did! Although _preferably not_ the last thing.

Please let this not be the last thing he ever did.

Cyclonus, satisfied that Tailgate was not going to panic himself into the nearest tree or _surprise idiot_ , increased his speed marginally and began to weave gracefully to and fro. Tailgate was happy enough just to watch Cyclonus ski, but actually doing it himself -and _with_ Cyclonus- was another story. The mono-horned mech slowed and weaved behind Tailgate, allowing him to focus less on Cyclonus's grace and more on having his own fun. He had just built up the courage to weave a little on his own when Whirl twisted and crashed into an adjacent tree bordering the slope's path, causing a cloud of fresh snow to fall from the tree's branches above and explode in front of him.

Tailgate threw himself into the snow like he had been taught, completely forgetting that his friend had been tailing him. Cyclonus twisted in time not to impale the minibot with a ski and crashed over Tailgate, reflexively gripping the ground underneath him -gripping Tailgate- and dragging him further down the slope. The warrior dug his claws into the snow like ice picks to slow their tumbling descent, one arm still clutching Tailgate tightly, until they gradually stopped against a small snowdrift. He was about to ask if the minibot had been hurt before he heard him laughing like he'd just heard the funniest joke.

"Oh, that was so much fun! I've never had so much fun. Can we do that again?" Tailgate continued that laugh that sounded like bells, nuzzling his helm against Cyclonus's chest. It was lovely, but even the prettiest bells could become irksome, especially so close to one's audials. Cyclonus hushed him with a quiet kiss. It took Tailgate a moment to compose himself, and less time to beg for more kisses. "Tailgate. I thought you wanted to do that again."

"We can ski some more later! The snow isn't going anywhere!" Cyclonus hesitated, found Tailgate's logic to be sound, and leaned in for another kiss.


	5. Change for the Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus is having a bad day for all the wrong reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pun-y title my boyfriend helped me...coin.

Cyclonus made his way down the hall to monitor duty. He hated this menial assignment, but Rodimus only trusted him enough for _this_ , and he knew janitorial or sanitation were jobs below him. Funny how he felt that way. He was quite fond of a certain waste disposal bot, even if he wasn't fulfilling his assigned duty on _this_ ship. Tailgate was actually on the ship's maintenance team as a tool carrier. Despite being-

_Ting_

Uh. Cyclonus looked down and lifted a pede, quietly hoping he hadn't just stepped on anything particularly important. It was a coin. Odd. The mechs that wander this area don't generally tend to leave money sitting around. Their loss. He picked up the coin and subspaced it to add to his savings later. Anyway, to continue his train of thought, despite being small and generally pretty weak, Tailgate's alt mode engine had surprising heft, and his small size allowed him access to very tight spaces. He could carry tools around with ease on his trailer, and he was slowly learning the maintenance craft from-

_Tink_

What in the-? Another coin on the floor? Cyclonus picked it up and walked into the monitor room, thinking nothing more of the coins. At least until another one was thrown at him, clinking off his armor and landing on the floor. Yes, well, perhaps someone was playing a prank on him. Cyclonus had more patience than that. Tossing coins at his feet were not going to phase him. He ignored the coin this time and sat at his console, shifting datapads and throwing out an energon cube someone had carelessly left.

Three more coins clinked harmlessly off his armor in the next breem, and at least twenty in the next three hours. Always aimed towards his lower half. Perhaps whoever had been throwing them was further away, or avoided the upper half to give the illusion of being further.

No. This was not war, and they did not think like tacticians. This was a stupid little gag meant to aggravate him. It succeeded, apparently, because he had hardly paid attention to the monitors the last two hours, evident by Ultra Magnus walking in to chastise him.

"Cyclonus. There has been a gaseous water leak in the washracks on Chamber 6, level 2B for the last breem. I have been notified that the area is under surveillance of your console for the last 4 hours. Is there an excusable reason why you did not report this disturbance to maintenance immediately?"

"No. I hadn't noticed. I will watch more carefully."

"You'd best." Ultra Magnus turned and stepped on one of the coins Cyclonus had been pointedly ignoring. "And for peace's sake, Cyclonus - _clean up your console_. I would expect _better_ of even _you._ " The enormous mech left the warrior there to seethe. This cycle was a nightmare. Cyclonus turned back to his console and suppressed a sigh as another coin clinked against his leg. He made a mental list of mechs that would feel pleasure out of bothering him incessantly.

Well, that would be just about the entire ship. He attempted to narrow it down to those who would take the effort. About half the ship. Those would have the patience for this? Those that had the funds to throw at him? Okay, he thought, let's try with the first mech that comes to mind, expanding, and then narrowing it down.

Whirl.

No, that sounded like exactly the mech that would try a stupid stunt like this one. Cyclonus hid the sneer on his face as he heard Whirl chatting animatedly to-well, to anyone who happened to be listening. Something about being assigned monitor duty as a punishment when the rest of them had it as a job - and what a slagged job it was. He had to agree with that one. As much as Cyclonus loved staring into _space_ , he preferred the literal, rather than the figurative. He could strangle him when the shift was over.

Cyclonus tried to focus on the monitors, he really did. But the coins kept trailing further up his chassis, and eventually started to clink against his helm. He had one breem left of his shift and he could escape, and Magnus could find Whirl's bleeding corpse somewhere creative. Just as he started to find peace in imagining Whirl's lifeless form, a coin went right through the holes in his cheeks and onto his tongue. Oh, but that was just _it_. He had had well enough of this little game.

"Whirl, if you do not stop using those abhorrent little pincers to throw currency at me in some detestable attempt to provoke a reaction, you will find you don't have any hands _at all._ "

He turned to find the room devoid of any sign of Whirl. Apparently he had finished his shift and left seconds ago. Another coin clinked right off his helm.

* * *

Cyclonus was being followed by those little coins. Every turn of the corner and there was a new coin to find, except he couldn't pinpoint exactly who was doing it. There was no recurring mech to find around each corner, no connections, no lingering heat signatures. This was infuriating and -as much as he hated to admit it- a clever way to break him down into an absolute fury. But it wouldn't work. Not as long as Swerve was still serving Engex.

Finally he reached the bar, made a beeline for a booth and sat down. Swerve ran over almost immediately - Cyclonus was frightening and intimidating, but he was a customer. "Hey Cyc-y! Cyclonus! Good ol' mono-horned mech himself! The staring-out-windows champion of-" Cyclonus gave him the most wicked, most enraged look he could muster. Apparently it was effective, as Swerve's vocalizer turned to static for a moment, and had to be reset a few times before it would obey him once more. He should do that more often.

"Uh-I mean, what can I get you today?"

"Absolutely anything that you haven't watered down. Anything _strong_."

"Fixin' to get overcharged kinda strong?"

"' _Fixin'_ to forget this _entire cycle ever happened._ "

"Oh, I've got just the thing!" Swerve ran off as quickly as possible and began to mix something together at the bar. Good. A mix of potent engex sounded good. A coin clinked off his remaining horn, and another off his fingers. The annoying little motormouth ran back over with a large glass full of a foul looking Engex mixture. It was a deep red in hue and it smelled like it could kill a mech. Good. _Exceptional._

"Uh, Cyclonus - that drink costs a little more than _that._ " Swerve was looking down at the two coins that had clinked off his head and gathered together on the table as if to spite him by their continued existence as closely and thoroughly as possible. "No, that's not your payment. Put this on my tab." Swerve shrugged and turned to leave. Well, at least he knew they were real and he wasn't going through some psychotic breakdown and imagining these coins everywhere. He lifted the drink and a coin clattered on the table, having stuck to the bottom of the glass through condensation. Another coin was tossed at him, missed, and landed in his drink. Oh, for _slag's sake._

"Swerve."

" _Ohslag_. I mean uh, yes, Cyclonus? Is there something wrong with your drink? I mean I'm not saying there should be -or could be- or is! But if there w-"

"Is there a prank going on that I should be aware of?"

"Not that I know of, why, did you wake up glued to your berth? Not that, uh, that was planned or anything. I mean it _was_ , but we figured, we'd have our optics torn out before we got close to your berth, since you're a _war sleeper_ and-"

"Is there any reason anyone you know on board would relentlessly throw coins at a mech for hours at a time?" That seemed to catch him off guard. "Coins?"

"Yes, I have been finding seemingly stray coins everywhere I go. Everywhere."

"Well, I'm kinda jealous, actually. I wish I had someone throwing money at _me_. Besides, don't you know that every time you find a stray coin, someone you love is thinking about you?" Swerve turned and walked away when Cyclonus straightened up and went silent. Oh. That's not so bad. There was only one mech that fit that description on this entire ship, and that wasn't a terrible thought at all.

Cyclonus fished the coin from his drink and continued the next hour drinking that abomination Swerve called a 'strong drink.' Swerve wouldn't know a strong drink if it struck him across the face, but this one wasn't...completely regrettable, as far as drinks go. It would still take a few more to get him overcharged yet, and he decided that no, he would rather not forget this _whole_ day. Cyclonus stood, dropped his payment near Swerve, and left before the minibot decided to talk his audials into malfunctioning. As he made his way back to his hab suite, it had dawned on him that the coins had stopped. He hadn't had one tossed at him in the last hour. Blissful. He keyed the door to the hab suite open, and immediately his little roommate jumped in surprise and turned himself so Cyclonus couldn't see whatever it was he had been fiddling with.

"Tailgate, what are you hiding?"

"Oh, nothing. Say, did you hear there was a broken water heater pipe in one of the washracks in chamber 6? I wasn't there to repair it but-" Tailgate squealed as Cyclonus grabbed him by his hood and lifted him up to reveal...a coin clutch.

"I-I was just...c-counting my money! For no reason! Yeah! No reason at all. None whatsoever...say, how was your shift today? A-and could you put me down maybe?"

Cyclonus dropped Tailgate on the floor, and almost immediately felt bad about it. Damn it. Damn this insignificant little wreck of a minibot.

"Ow."

The warrior lifted the minibot up again, sat on his own berth, the one with a better view of the window, and plunked his roommate in his lap. Tailgate was used to this and rested against Cyclonus's chest, peacefully listening to his intakes, the thrum of his engine, and the beating of his spark. "I only meant the be-"

"Hush." Cyclonus placed one arm around his minibot's waist, his servo settling to gently stroking a bundle of wires inbetween a transformation seam, perfectly comfortable to just relax in silence and enjoy the end of his day in the light of good intentions, even if the majority of his day had been spoiled by them.

* * *

_Earlier_

"Hey, Tailgate. Tailgate, hey."

Tailgate pointedly ignored him. If he could just get to their quarters and lock him out, perhaps he wouldn't be stuffed into an air vent or shoved into an energon dispenser today. "I got somethin' you might wanna hear about. And no, it ain't my day, which was just lovely, thanks for asking. It's about Cyclonus."

Tailgate stopped walking and turned around. "What, Whirl? I am not looking to get shoved into anything small, compact, smelly, slimy, sticky, or otherwise gross or uncomfortable. What do you want?"

"I just wanted you to have these. I had this idea y'know - when you find a stray coin, it means that someone you love is thinkin' about you. I trust you know what to do." Whirl dropped...a bag of coins into Tailgate's hand. Whirl was _giving him money_ to express his _feelings_ to _Cyclonus?_ What the slag? "Whirl this sounds like a load of- of hooey. What do you know about feelings and stuff? How do I know you're not making this up?"

"No way! I know lots about feelings. See, right now, I'm hurt. By your accusations. This is my hurt-by-your-accusations face. Ask Rung, he knows!"

Tailgate sighed and looked over at Rung's office door. Fine. He could ask Rung a stupid question if it meant Whirl left him alone. He lifted his arm as far as it could reach, to the door's auto-open switch, and stepped inside. "Excuse me Rung, Whirl was just telling me that when you find a stray coin it means someone you love is thinking about you. Have you ever heard that?"

Rung put down a stack of files and turned to Tailgate. "I think I have, yes. It's a funny little superstition, but nothing more. Something to make people smile, that's all. It's not a _fact._ " Oh.

"Oh. Thanks, Rung!" Tailgate closed the door and turned to Whirl, but Whirl was sprinting down the hallway cackling. Oh well. If everyone knew that, then what's the harm? Cyclonus would be _so surprised!_ He might even smile!


	6. Sing me to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been very busy with college, so I apologise for not updating as much as I should. Here's a cute fluffy thing I made!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by CBB's voice acting skit where Tailgate sings Cyclonus to sleep. (You can find it by going to crashboombanger.tumblr.com/post/107352655912 )The song means a lot to me personally.

Cyclonus usually had nightmares like this. He never bothered to tell anyone. He never even intended for his roommate to find out, but it's not like he can erase his memory. Cyclonus had woken screaming and clawing at his plating and it took a gallon of ice cold water to snap him out of it. Graverobber's Disease had been one of the most painful moments of his life, and that's saying something.

It was times like these -the times where he had no external help to aid his nightly shutdown- that he hated the idea of recharging at all. He would often work himself into stasis, but he was as ahead of his work as he could be. He would get overenergised, but Swerve's bar was shut down on account of movie night. Movie night meant he had no Tailgate to otherwise preoccupy him.

Sitting alone in the dark it was. It wasn't like he doesn't usually brood somewhere isolated; but it's different when your systems are primed for recharge but your processor is racing at the idea of experiencing brutal agony once again. Tailgate had told him if he ever needed anything, he could call him on the commlink, but... calling a minibot to help him recharge? He was not a sparkling and he'd be damned if he would be so degraded. 

* * *

"Thanks, Swerve! Later re-rewind!" Tailgate laughed at the nickname they'd given their 'reborn' friend as he left the rec-room and headed back to his own quarters. He knew Cyclonus had night terrors sometimes, so he hoped he was alright without him for a little while. Cyclonus would often strike up meaningless conversation or let Tailgate babble for a while just before berth-time, and Tailgate wasn't stupid. He knew the warrior was calming himself before recharging to ward off the nightmares. Still, a bad feeling swept over him as he got closer to their shared space.

He really hoped Cyclonus was okay without him.

Tailgate tapped in the code to their quarters and timidly walked in. It was ice cold in here! At least, compared to normal. He looked over at his roommate's bunk and _screamed_.

"Cyclonus!? Oh-oh Primus Cyclonus you're bleeding! There's-there's energon there, and claw marks! Did someone attack you!?"

Cyclonus jolted from his recharge halfway through clawing the wound open further, and got to a stand as fast as he could. After looking around the room and finding no potential danger, he looked to assess himself and his own damage. He had been aggressively scratching his plating in his sleep again, trying to get rid of the itch and the pain, and he'd made himself bleed in the last hour Tailgate was out. Scrap. "Don't be foolish. I was...having another night terror. That's it. Stop trembling."

The minibot breathed out a sigh of relief. Just a night terror, not a sparkeater or Overlord or Tarn or something else horrible here to kill everyone. Still, that wound needed to be dressed. "Cyclonus, sit down! On the berth, so I can reach." Tailgate did his best impression of the grumpiest, most confident medic on board, and crossed his arms.  
 The warrior just stared at him like he'd gone mad and stupid at the same time. " _Please?_ I'm gonna fix your arm and then we can recharge."

He exvented a sigh and gathered the disinfectant and bandages, which were too high for the little minibot to reach, and sat back on the berth. Tailgate got to work clearing the energon. "This wound hardly needs to be dressed. It's nothing more than a paint scratch."

"Hey, I knew someone who got Cosmic Rust from not taking care of his paint! Besides, I don't wanna get energon on me."

Cyclonus's expression changed from indigence and irritation to confusion. "Why in the pit would you get my energon on you?"

Tailgate waited until he was finished wrapping the wound to answer. He pulled on Cyclonus's arm and guided him into lying back on Tailgate's lap, and began to sing. " _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..._ "

"Tailgate."

" _You make me happy when the skies are grey..._ "

Cyclonus felt his systems prime once again for recharging, but with Tailgate here, it couldn't be so bad... "Tailgate, we're in _space_. The skies are _always grey._ "

"That's my point... _you'll never know dear, how much I love you..._ "

The warrior felt himself involuntarily relaxing into Tailgate's gentle strokes to his helm. This was ridiculous...

" _Please don't take my sunshine away..._ "

Tailgate giggled and pressed a gentle kiss to Cyclonus's helm as he drifted into recharge. 


End file.
